Author of A Secret
by The Candlestick Maker
Summary: There are secrets we never admit to ourselves, much less to anyone else. Can sixteen years worth of hiding them be unraveled by one fateful, unhappy accident?
1. Happily Ever After

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. **

**Pairing: Rachel/Quinn**

**Spoilers: Pretty much until the season 2 finale. **

**Summary: "Everyone is like a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody." - Mark Twain.**

**Mark Twain once said that everyone is like a moon, and has a dark side never shown to anyone else. Quinn Fabray happens to know this better than most people.**

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><p><strong>Author of A Secret<strong>

"It turns up when you don't really expect it. It's like one day you realize that the fairy tale might be slightly different than you dreamed. The castle, well, it may not be a castle. And it's not so important that it's happy ever after, just that it's happy right now. See, once in a while, once in a blue moon, people will surprise you. And once in a while, people may even take your breath away." – Grey's Anatomy

**1. Happily Ever After…**

She told herself it was a routine. That she had done this a million times before, as she had stood in front of the mirror that night, inspecting the careful handwork of her black mascara and the way her pristine white chemise clung to her body. Faintly, she had remembered sighing, as she set aside her carmine lipstick on the cherry wood dresser next to her crucifix, and upon turning away, caught a glimpse of herself in the glass.

"You're the prettiest girl in the room," She reminded herself under black-rimmed eyes through a languid breath. What little reassurance those words offered her she took up hastily.

And with that, she leapt back with her head held high and stole the car keys from the quaint mattress behind her. Yes, she thought, as headed out that fateful night – this was just going to be another routine.

Oh, she couldn't have been more wrong.

...

Puck's house party was supposed to be a send off celebration into the final year of high school, the year that was supposed to be golden. But with no boyfriend, a flimsy grasp on the remnants of her popularity and some light stretch marks to remind her of the child she had once given up, Quinn had little to celebrate about the incoming year, but still she tried her best. Plastering that synthetic, plastic smile honed by years of living under the same roof with Russell Fabray, she held her head up high as she knocked on the door of Puck's apartment with a heavy knuckles.

"Looking good, baby mama." Noah 'Puck' Puckerman had smirked, greeting her at the door with a coy smile which she returned, albeit with a quiet tinge of pain lingering in her hazel eyes.

"Get back to your girl, Puck." Quinn replied with a laugh, nodding him off in the direction of Lauren Zizes, who busy chatting about her latest conquests. The Mohawk grinned and left her, rubbing her arms as she awkwardly watched as he left.

At one point, Puck and her were almost together, trapped in some status between a one-night stand and doting parents before they had broken it off. No matter how hard they tried, the pieces never seemed to fit. _They _didn't fit together. Within a year, he had found love in the captain of wrestling team and she?

Well, she still had no one.

With a quiet breath, she held her head up high as she strutted towards her friends on the couch, ignoring the blatant stares from the newly-instated Cheerios who had heard only horror stories of the former head cheerleader and her descent from the social hierarchy. Whispers trailed from behind her but she did her best to ignore them with a cool smirk.

_Most beautiful girl in the room? Enter here. _

She settled into the masses nicely, feigning bits of conversation here and there. And smiling – there was so much smiling, it made her cheeks hurt but the company was nice albeit dry and the atmosphere was intoxicating. She might've even had an almost pleasant time if it weren't for what came next.

It dawned on the blonde, almost-Prom Queen, as she looked up curiously, from the ominous wine coolers.

To say that all summer, she had been avoiding this moment would be, what one would call, an understatement of all sorts. She was _dreading_ this moment,_ fearing _this moment,_ loathing_ this moment all before it had even taken a step through the threshold of Puck's three-bedroom apartment and introduced herself as Rachel freaking Berry.

"Noah, I'm perfectly capable of taking my coat off myself," Rachel had said when Puck's elbow 'accidently' brushed by her chest. Her tall, heavily-built boyfriend slung his arm around the brunette protectively, sneering as Puck waggled his eyebrows at her, and hung the hideous garment on a free hanger in the closet before returning to his position by the punch bowl.

"I don't trust him." The boyfriend in question stated with a pout, and she nudged him gently, reassuring him.

"There's nothing not to trust. Puck and I are just friends, Finn."

He rubbed the back of his head as if he still had his doubts and muttered a juvenile 'But still…' before she placed a chaste kiss on his lips. He smiled, his dopey, juvenile smile after pulling away from her gently.

"Well, okay…" Finn murmured through that dopey expression, taking her arm as she as held it out patiently.

Snickering, Santana had looked up from her drink and nudged Quinn briskly. "Hey, it looks like the Smurfette is even better at keeping a hold on him than you were."

Hazel eyes narrowed and the aversion to alcohol was replaced by a sudden desire for the taste. Santana grimaced as the blonde snatched the cup from her friend's hand and downed in. Cocking her head back, the familiar acid slithered down her throat with ease and she held her eyes shut.

"Hey! You owe me a drink, Stretch Mark." The latina fumed next to her, crossing her arms as threateningly as she could. But honestly? Quinn could care less for any 'impending doom' Santana could send her way. She was already facing a more inauspicious adversary.

Her eyelids slid shut as she felt the effects of the liquor take over her body. The world sauntered in and out of focus...

...

Her mouth was dry as heck. That was her first thought as she wriggled into consciousness.

The soft periwinkle velvet brushed against her palms, and sleepily, she woke to find herself slouched in one of Puck's lone armchairs.

Looking up, she cringed, eyes narrowing vehemently at the sight of the brunette in the lounger opposite her. Her jaw snapped open. A meager formation of jabs and half-baked insults already dripping from her mouth as Quinn sat by the mantle, protective of her final drink. Puck's other guests were slung over the floor, nursing their hangovers or otherwise in a coma-like sleep save Rachel, who was always wary of her alcohol intake, and Quinn, who barely coming out of her acidic coma.

It's not like she enjoyed the taste of liquor, she just enjoyed how the severity her problems seemed to fade the moment the liquor trickled down her throat. The first and foremost problem was the girl who sat opposite her.

"I don't forgive you for what you did at Nationals."

Rachel's jaw snapped open to reply, but the blonde turned away quickly, shoving the explanation back down the songbird's throat. She didn't want an explanation. She didn't want an excuse. She didn't want anything resembling a conversation between herself and the girl who had stolen her boyfriend time and time again without remorse.

But if she was honest with herself – and this was rare nowadays – it wasn't so much about _him_. It was about _her_ – Rachel Berry. It was _them_, together. And it was about being around _them_ that she couldn't stand.

So it was no surprise really, that after that those ten razor-sharp words, which she had polished so diligently, she would only allow herself a few moments stay in the same room as this girl before she ambled to the balcony in a half-drunk, acidic displeasure. She was so drunk that she could barely hold her form against the guardrail.

But even in this dazed state, when she propped herself up against the railing and her face met the blackened sky, a wave of relief washed over her. A sort of freedom in contrast with the heavy sort of confinement that hung over her head when she was even near Rachel. The sight of the street below, decked with tiny tinsel lights filled her with a sense of power, as if suddenly she was sitting on a miniature globe of the world. Watching over it. Supreme over it. Apart from it. And she needed this badly, needed this sovereignty over the world when she felt so helpless to its influences.

"I am sorry, you know." The sing-song voice rang from behind her.

Quinn grimaced slightly. She should have known that Rachel wouldn't even allow her a moment's peace. That she would inexplicably follow her to the places she didn't belong.

How many times did they have to do this? Better yet, how many times _could_ they go on doing this?

She didn't return Rachel's kindred gaze, or shift aside when the diva shimmied in next to the blonde, overlooking the cityscape - in hopes that if she didn't respond, Rachel would take the hint and just finally let her be. Honestly, she should have known better.

"But it wasn't just my fault." The songbird persisted, placing her hands on her hips dignifiedly. "_Finn _kissed _me_, Quinn."

"I know. It's just…" With empty fervor, the blonde crumbled the empty Styrofoam cup in her hand and let it fall to the bottom of the desolate street. She had no end to that statement. She had no end to that thought.

"While your intentions to keep Finn only to advance your chances at Prom Queen were wrong - what Finn and I did was also morally incorrect. Especially after you two just broke up," Ardently, Rachel continued, blatantly ignoring the glazed texture over Quinn's eyes. "Which was inconsiderate of me, considering how far I believe we both have come."

_And how far have we come, Berry?_ Quinn thought, bitterly keeping her eyes on the horizon. Sure, perhaps their rivalry had simmered after Prom night, when Rachel had comforted her after Finn had managed to get himself kicked out of their own Junior Prom, but that night in New York…when Finn had kissed Rachel and she had kissed him back, ignited something in her like years of built-up fervor released into one night.

"While we both have committed our fair share of misdemeanors towards each other, I think it's best if we finally put our differences aside and purse a friendship for the betterment of the Glee club."

Cordially, the brunette extended her hand, invading the blonde's personal space.

But despite this intrusion, the blonde didn't move away, barely registering the propositions Rachel was rapidly hurling her way. Her body only shivered involuntarily, induced by the night air, which was surprisingly cold for the end of August in Ohio.

"Oh, are you cold?" Incapable of taking a hint, Rachel undid her hideous striped sweater and slung it over Quinn's frozen shoulders. "It would be very inopportune if you fell ill just before school started…"

_She couldn't be serious. A coat? A coat was supposed to fix years of hatred?_ Grudgingly, Quinn tore her eyes from the skyline to glance at the girl, convinced that she must've looked completely stupid, standing there with Rachel Berry's cardigan hanging from her form, freezing and intoxicated.

From its place by the doorway, the clock on the wall ticked away the moments until midnight and of all things she could be doing right now, Quinn was wishing Rachel Berry away. No such luck.

"So…" The songbird began, glancing around.

"So…" Quinn answered with an equal amount of enthusiasm. Which was virtually none. She fiddled with the strings of Rachel's hoodie, mulling over her thoughts, uncertain. She clammed up, sinking the proverbial toe into unknown territory. "Are you happy?"

Rachel bit her lip, sinking her teeth into the pinkish flesh. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Quinn responded feverishly, before releasing a sullen breath. She eased up, nodding towards Finn's drunken form in the living room. "Are you happy with him?"

Rachel took a deep breath. Perhaps too long.

Impatient, Quinn shoved her hands, which were already nipped by the cold into the pockets of her jeans. She glared at the darkness below the balcony and wondered what it would feel like to fall from this height, darkness enveloping like great wings.

"Very." Rachel finally said, tearing her eyes away from Quinn's intense stare.

Quinn drew a shallow breath of cold air. A sullen darkness settled inside of her, a strong pang of anger, of envy. Her chest filled with pain.

"Then I'm happy for you." Was it obvious that she wasn't? The blonde's reply was despondent, darkening in her eyes.

Rachel brushed her shoulder with the open palm of her hand. "Quinn –"

_Don't touch me_. Quinn whirled.

"No!" The blonde returned with unexpected fervor. "Don't pretend like you understand, Rachel!" She turned towards the inviting darkness again, her face hidden under a façade of sweet, soft moonlight. She dug her nails into the metal railings, tempted to jump then and there. "Because you don't."

"Then tell me how to–"

"Maybe, _you_ can go pretending that you can fix this." Quinn cut her off. Her hands flew up, motioning to the air between them, pointing to some invisible connection. "Whatever this is… but _I _can't. I can't pretend that I don't feel something every time I see you two together. That part of me doesn't die when you kiss him in front of me."

The brunette blinked back lamely. "I-I'm sorry, Quinn… I had no idea, I didn't know you were still so hung up on him…" Rachel trailed on.

_This isn't about him. _She almost said, catching herself just in time._ It was never about him_.

Morosely, Quinn turned away, aware of the growing moisture in her eyes. She didn't want Rachel to see her like this. _Being friends? Does she know what kind of psychotic torture that would be?_

Two years of being in Glee practice - two years of watching as she fell head over heels for male leads and music teachers was enough for Quinn. It hurt so much that she could try to laugh and it would come out an empty, noiseless sound. The silence came between them like a thick, heavy bank of snow in August. She felt herself misplaced, to be standing here, right here and now. With knit tightly eyebrows, she looked to her left, almost yearning to throw caution to the wind, serve her heart on a silver platter and confess her deepest secret to fill the immense emptiness between them. A part of her wanted to…but –

Hazel eyes peered stealthily at the face beside her, which was illuminated by a faint, white moonlight.

What if all this blew up in her face?

"You don't have to pretend like you care about me…" Quinn's voice wasn't shouting, it was begging her to leave and the sentiment was caught fast.

Rachel flinched, looking up at the blonde's face suddenly and Quinn's breath caught in her throat, knowing that she had struck a chord. In one quick jerk, the brunette pulled back, retreating slowly and shaking her head in disbelief.

"I'm not pretending, Quinn. I'm sorry if that's how you feel, but I never was faking this." The diva gulped. "Any of this."

A serious frown formed on the diva's tender face and she turned heel quickly, abandoning the other girl, who was quickly sobering up from solitude, alone on the balcony. The cold clinging to her sides was agonizing; the acidic taste in her mouth accompanied with the sandpaper texture of her tongue, even more so. But the feeling of being completely alone on the ice-paved balcony? That was unbearable.

Quinn hung her head, feeling the full scope of her nausea over the railing as the unkind wind rushed by. But the queasiness settling inside her was far from the effects of alcohol she had long since known. Yes, the sudden painstaking guilt that sank into the pit of her stomach was far from any routine.

"I'm sorry." She choked out to herself, under the acidic breath and smoldering night air. Turning, her eyes scoured the spot where Rachel had just been and her once deafening thoughts all fell silent.

"God. I'm so sorry, Rachel." She repeated in disbelief, running an open palm over her drained eyes, gasping.

If only she could say that to her face.

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><p><strong>AN: So, any thoughts? **

**I know this fic is much more angst-y and staid than my other stories but I actually really wanted to tackle a more serious side of Faberry.**


	2. Opportunities

**2. Opportunities **

"There is a tide in the affairs of men.  
>Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;<br>Omitted, all the voyage of their life  
>Is bound in shallows and in miseries.<br>On such a full sea are we now afloat,  
>And we must take the current when it serves,<br>Or lose our ventures."

-William Shakespeare, "Julius Caesar"

The blackness of the sky whispered secrets to her, but her senses were numb and she couldn't hear them speaking.

Quinn Fabray was too broken to listen, leering into the uncertain blackness in front of her, tempted to pinch herself or just a scratch or so to see if she was still alive. So many feelings sweltered up inside of her, a cocktail of ire, envy, sadness, and guilt. When she thought about it though, long and hard, she realized that she did not blame Rachel, rather herself. After all, she had so many opportunities. Before New York, before Jessie, before Rachel had been smitten by that ogre Finn or Mr. Shue or any other of those _stupid_ boys.

Before all of this, before they had ended up so screwed - she could have said something. Why had she been so stupid? For years, fear had settled in her, like a bitter fluid, running through her veins. It made her feel inhumane.

Yes, there were so many opportunities. All of which she had refused to take.

What she wouldn't give to change her history.

...

Music drifted from the apartment door, steady and distant like a supple hum.

Exasperated, Quinn tore her eyes away from the vast distance of night sky with some remorse. A sudden shift in the still air pulled her out of her thoughts and she whirled around. _Santana. _The striking, Hispanic girl stood in front of the reflective, sliding glass doors with a neutral expression, arms crossed.

"Hey," The girl called, pulling the belt of her long black fleece tightly around her waist. Quinn felt her presence settling next to her, like needles against her delicate skin. The numbness had suddenly left her. She could feel again.

"Hey." She replied casually. "Eavesdropping?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Fabray. You're not so interesting –" Santana let out a languorous laugh, tossing her head back. Awkwardly, she dug her hands into the pockets of her soot-black jacket. "…I did catch some of your little balcony scene though."

Ashamed, Quinn glared off into the horizon, her eyes glazed off with a soft distrust. Santana's voice grew uncharacteristically somber, a strange lingering smoothness that she almost exclusively used for Brittany.

"As much as it pains me to say this - Berry's... _right_. She makes me want to bleach my eyes out with her wardrobe, but half-pint makes some good points. We can't win Nationals next year without being an _actual_ team," Santana gritted her teeth, though the angry sentiment was lost in her supernatural sound. There was no booze in her breath, which was startling. "It's been two years – why can't you just take one for the team?"

More silence.

Santana's wrath withered slightly, her body wavering in the cruel wind's embrace. "I want to win a National championship, Quinn. I'm tired of being a Lima loser."

Shocked, Quinn whirled, touching Santana's shoulder thoughtfully. "You're not a Lima loser, Santana. You were captain of the Cheerios."

"So were you!" The latina boomed suddenly and they wilted, refusing to acknowledge the unfortunate implication. Quinn was the first to break the uncomfortable silence that settled in between them, heavy.

"Where do you get off defending her?"The blonde asked, reasoning with her eyes, trying to gain as much momentum in her words to mask the pain that slithered into her tone. She felt so transparent right now, like there was this big, gaping hole in her that everyone else could see. "You hate her just as much as I do."

Santana folded her hands together. "Hate's the wrong word. I don't hate Berry. I just like trying to get back at her for annoying the crap out of me." When the blonde refused to look her way, she pressed further. "I don't think you exactly hate her either…"

The irony was too much for words.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea."

Santana's dark eyebrow quirked upwards and Quinn shuddered, realizing how dangerously close she had gotten to the truth. Wavering, she pushed herself off the railing with the flat palms of her hands and regained a flimsy sense of balance on wobbly feet. Was she already so drunk?

"Fine." The blonde breathed out, trying to look dignified and failing terribly. Halting at the glass doors that led back to the apartment, she turned and gave Santana her first genuine smile in months, a half smile, barely qualifying as any indication of happiness. "Careful Santana, you're getting soft."

The latina scoffed under breath, before taking a step and squinting at Quinn's retreating form. If she looked long and hard enough she might've seen something more there – beyond the rigid face, the stiff movement. In fact, she might've seen the secret Quinn Fabray had been burying for years. That secret that glinted in her hazel eyes in brief intervals.

But she didn't.

Instead, Santana stole a shallow breath and returned her gaze to the skyline that Quinn had previously owned. Rows of portentous, grey, smoking clouds loomed overhead. The brightest stars were masked by these clouds. Hidden. And it was then that she knew, though she ignored it at the time, - that something dreadful was about to happen here.

…

Tentatively, Quinn took steps between the wasted bodies of strangers and made her way towards the coat closet, catching Rachel's fragile arm as the brunette retrieved her shoes. "I know I was out of line -"

"You still are." Rachel responded ardently, slapping back Quinn's grasp and regaining control of her own as she slipped on her green combat boots. Was she even trying to have a fashion sense?

"Move." With a leer, Rachel crowed.

Quinn did as she was told, defensively raising her elbows as Rachel brushed past her and made her way to the locked apartment door. While her tan, dexterous hands undid the bolts and the chain, Quinn slumped her shoulders. Her mind was still bogged down by Rachel's propositions and what was left of her hangover.

"Can we at least talk about this?"

Rachel turned. "What, so we can argue again?" Her body rippled at the harsh tone of Rachel's voice. "Because I'm through with this, Quinn. I'm through with trying to be friends, with trying to figure you out. Every time we do this, it's like -"

_One step forward, two steps back._ Quinn finished for her. And Rachel knew this well, eyeing her with a wince of pain before brushing past her with abandon, pushing past the door and revealing the cream-colored walls of the hallway. Quinn released a tired breath.

_Why does Berry have to be so damn frustrating? Apologizes weren't so supposed to be this hard._ She balled her fists and glared at the brunette as she strutted down the hall. Her expression softened slightly. _Berry makes everything so much harder._

"Where do you think you're going?" The blonde asked with a quick snip, torn between apologizing and letting Berry face the full extent of her wrath.

"Out. I need a bit of a breather from this place." Rachel replied sullenly. And then silently: _A breather from you._

Quinn sighed, barely keeping her pace. Her mind was reeling in the vast array of different shapes and contour lines that polished in front of her as she followed the diva down the stairwell in loud, thumping footsteps. The acidity of her conscience began to wear off by the time she came face-to-face with the girl just outside the apartment building.

Through the damp air, she looked up from Rachel's smaller form on the sidewalk and into the soft blackness of the night sky and something fazed her. She wanted to reach out, she wanted to touch the miniature diva who was dramatizing by the road but she couldn't. Instead, she settled for shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket…

Loose strands of thread dwindled between her fingers and she frowned, realizing that she was still wearing Rachel's jacket.

"Hey!" She called out, suddenly, trying to remind the diva this but her voice was drowned by the impending sound of the sky. Thunder rolled off the horizon, crashing over the landscape. It did not help that Rachel had turned her back to her, probably moping.

Droplets rain began to trickle from the heavy clouds of smoke she hadn't seen on the roof before. The tentative release of rain droplets was brief, overtaken by an abrupt heaviness, a quickened pace of sharp water droplets that stabbed the top of her head.

"Rachel!" Quinn called out again, this time with more authority. Her unsteady voice broke down to the power of dwindling thunder, rolling over the banks of darkening clouds. She called out again and this time, the brunette spared her only the briefest glance before she took a step off the sidewalk and into the darkened street, strutting to other side of road without looking.

She couldn't have anticipated the station wagon that had swerved slightly a little ways up the road. She couldn't have anticipated that the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel, or that the vehicle was quickly closing in on her thin form.

But Quinn _did_.

In that passage of time, there were three moments of opportunity. The first, she wasted on a breath. The second, she screamed Rachel's name through the stone-cold air. And the third? She didn't miss. Opportunity had knocked one final time, and she answered the door, running.

Instinctively, she was jumping toward the girl in the center of the quiet street and following the thundering beats in her chest that instructed her to run. She dived forward with the power honed by years of cheer practice as she flew under the gunfire of rain into the black pavement. Porcelain hands folded as they pushed against Rachel's back, who screamed as she pushed her down. The brunette fell to the damp grass on the other side of the road, arms flailing about. And then, she felt herself almost suspended in the air, neither foot touching the ground in her great leap of faith. Ignoring the fact that heart was about to explode in her chest, Quinn closed her eyes, awaiting the inevitable impact of flesh and cold metal. Her mind going into overdrive…

At that exact moment, she was briefly aware of her name being screamed over the thrashing rain and the thundering beats in her chest.

"_Quinn!_"

That was when the hood of the car met her body.

The impact, though completely expected, still managed to catch her off guard, throwing her briefly into the air. She saw the pitch black sky twice before she spiraled to the slippery pavement, landing her on her back. The pain surging in her spine and left shoulder and the side of her ribs was nothing compared to the immediate throbbing in her head. The pains told her that she was at least still alive, at least for now.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." A voice from the direction of the top of her head rang, along with the pitter-patter of shoes and falling rain. Rachel's face materialized above her own, full of the pain, the shock, the hurt that she was sure had painted her own face at that very moment. Thin, tan palms wrapped around her slight shoulders.

"I forbid you from dying, Quinn! If you leave me like this with no explanation for what you just did, I will track you down to the farthest reaches of _Hell_ and make you pay for leaving me like this." Rachel shook the blonde's paralyzed body on the pavement. "So don't you dare die on me! Don't you dare quit on me now! Don't you leave me alone here, Quinn!"

If there was one thing Quinn knew, it was that the world had a tendency to blur at moments like these, moments of great pain; just as it had when her parents had thrown her out of her childhood home, just as it had when Finn had found out he wasn't Beth's father, just as it had when she held her little girl for the last time. This is when the definition between reality and fantasy began to blur for the blonde has-been cheerleader, who was lying with her head cracked on the pavement.

She wasn't sure if the excruciating pain in ribs and shoulders was real anymore, or if the rain was really hitting her skin like needles. She wasn't even sure if Rachel really was still above her, screeching into the cell phone she had ripped from the former cheerleader's body, then collapsing onto her chest to hear the sound of Quinn's ragged breaths.

Lifting her head from Quinn's chest, Rachel brushed an empty palm against her numbed shoulder and held it up to the moonlight, revealing Quinn's blood on her hand.

Quinn wanted to respond, wanted to brush Rachel's dark hair off her face and her blood off Rachel's hands, wanted to wriggle even a little bit but the numbness in her muscles pinned her to the ground. Because of the pain in her body, she wanted to cry but her eyes were already too tired and raw to muster the strength to cry. Most of all, she wanted to give Rachel back her striped cardigan, the one she had slung over her shoulders on the balcony before her drunken dumbassery. The one she was bleeding into heavily.

A moment. She swore that she allowed herself only a mere moment to let her eyelids close before the light tremors trailing down her body stopped completely. The pain in her shoulder stung as if it had been doused in acid the moment those hands let her go.

"Quinn!" The brunette shrieked above as Quinn felt the droplets of moisture thrash against her cheeks. Was that rain or was Rachel crying? She couldn't be sure; the world was becoming one disoriented blob. The rain began to subside; the world began to fade to black.

"Quinn, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" Rachel was spitting apologies her way, wringing the blood out of her shirt with her tight fists.

Distorted emerald lights flashed above her head as Quinn shivered on the rough, black pavement. She didn't want to let go of the brunette looming over her, or the blades of water-drenched brown hair coming in between them. She blinked away the pain in her shoulders, watching in curiosity as the face above her finally succumbed to the impending blur in the corner of her eyes, began to succumb to the darkness as well. Her lips moved of her own accord, but no sound slithered out.

"_I'm sorry too, Rachel." _She wanted to say.

Eyelids fluttered shut again. The last thing she could remember feeling was the soft rain pelting her body…


	3. This Darkness

**3. This Darkness **

"Does this darkness have a name? This cruelty, this hatred, how did it find us? Did it steal into our lives, or did we seek it out and embrace it? What happened to us? That we now send our children into the world like we send young men to war... Hoping for their safe return... But knowing that some will be lost along the way. When did we lose our way? Consumed by the shadows, swallowed whole by the darkness. Does this darkness have a name? Is it your name?"

- One Tree Hill

The rain came down hard as the paramedics ripped Rachel Berry from the unmoving body of Quinn Fabray. They pushed her back, into the safety of the storm. Through the curtain of dusk and drifting mist, she watched in silence. In their blue uniforms, the medical technicians whizzed past her, checking vital signs, carrying Quinn into the pristine white box of an ambulance. In the distance, Rachel held her sides protectively under the downpour. Scarlet light beamed off her shoulders, staining the road ahead in an unnatural redness, mixing in with the remaining blood.

The diva took a step back, feeling her legs wobble as the paramedics tended to Quinn's limp body. _This is all my fault._ She thought, as a sudden darkness came over her. The kind of darkness that penetrates the light of a full and empty moon. The kind of darkness that has built inside of someone, a product of shame and resentment and trepidation, released in a sudden, irreversible thought. _Quinn did this for me._

"Why?" Her voiced dripped through the icy air. She was speaking to no one but herself. And she knew she would never be given an answer this way but she couldn't help herself. Her demons were quickly being translated through the eerie sound of her voice. "Why did you do this? Why didn't you just let it be me?"

A gunfire of footsteps came from behind her, through the waves of murky, undulating water and forced her back into reality. She felt Santana's presence beside her, her hands on her knees and gasping for breath.

"That's not her." The latina stated dimly, shaking her head in a muddle disbelief and fury. Beside her, the diva withered, unsure what to say to the impending explosion that was Santana Lopez. She raised a hand to her mouth to cover the violent gasps for air.

"Tell me that's not her-" Santana demanded once more between shallow breaths, her hand still covering her mouth. "Please, just tell me it's not."

Cold and shallow, the wind rushed between them, cutting the silence between them like sharpened knives and though there was no answer on Rachel's part, Santana knew. Oh, how she knew.

"She was just fine an hour ago." Santana's voice was growing louder and angrier, rivaling the sound of thunder over the banks of darkening clouds. Her anger was aimless though, and she made her hands into fists which she felt into the damping air, defying the inexplicable heaviness that gravity seemed to have at that moment. "I was there. She was fine - just then... She was..."

…

People don't tell you about their grief.

You look at them, and you feel it – on every fiber of their body. It is not found in anything particular that they say or do, but rather an emptiness that settles upon them in their darkest hour. And in this darkest hour, they find a darkness inside of them they might've never known. Till now.

There was darkness settling on Rachel Berry as she sat in the waiting room of Lima Memorial Hospital, holding her drenched face in drenched hands. Shivering under the watchful eye of clinical lights, she released breaths of her darkness – her shame, her pain, her disbelief. All arising from the situation at hand. Her body shivered, sodden in a quick slick of cold rain. In the hectic rush of chaos, someone had sheltered her in a soot-colored blanket, and she held the fabric tightly in her hands. She held the darkness in her hands.

Santana Lopez was standing beside her, a still figure in the unintelligible light with her arms crossed persistently. Like a statue, the latina kept her eyes to the clock high on the wall, as if she was waiting. Waiting for something – for Quinn to be alright. She did not move. She did not cry. She did not break down. And for that, Rachel assumed that she was much stronger than herself, or perhaps simply more stubborn.

Because no matter how tightly she held her eyelids shut, she could not erase the image of the blonde on the road, shaking and shivering and fading fast. Dying _right _in front her. Nor could she erase the sensation of Quinn's blood on her palms before the salty rain washed away crimson rivers. She could not erase the moment those hazel eyes flicked to her, in the vast confusion of things, and beg her to stay. But she had to let go. Eventually.

Her mind went back to Quinn, who was lying in that emergency room, alone and inescapably afraid, if not, still unconscious. By letting go, had she let her down?

Dark strands of hair flew into the air as her head shot up from her hands. When the clinical lights struck her, she felt her raw pupils dilate to the artificial day. Then through the bluish blurs of the medical staff, she made out the people around her – wives and husbands and children and lovers. All of them praying for the same thing she was, all crying for the same thing she was, all tormented by whatever this world had in store for them.

Nurses filtered by every hour, with their fully gloved hands pulling aside the visitors who surrounded her, one by one, and delivering new news. And then, regardless of whether it was good or bad, there was crying and embracing, hot and heavy weeping into the arms of the nearest person…

Yes, nurses filtered by every hour with news for each of those who loved them.

Never was there any news about Quinn.

Before she knew it, she felt the hot tears fall on her open palms, scorching her hands and leaving behind a small reddish mark on burning flesh. She felt Santana stiffening uncomfortably next to her.

They remained silent in the chaos of it all.

…

In a matter of hours, the waiting room was almost entirely emptied out, the people who had come after them long since gone. From the front desk, the curly-haired receptionist glanced at the two girls, one who hadn't taken her eyes off the menacing clock since they arrived and the other who was too broken for words. And so, the receptionist stole for them a quiet moment of mourning. An act of quiet sympathy that was perhaps, the kindest thing she could have done and the only thing. Because what would happen next was only inevitable.

With years of experience, Rachel ignored the rest of the world for a moment, and instead focused on the woman, a fascinating creature, on the opposite side of wall. Her mouth had gone dry the moment this woman had stepped into the room, her head held high in that distinguished way, though the speck of lingering tenderness in her eyes gave her away. The honey-colored hair, the fair skin, even the _manner_ in which she walked into a room were all too familiar.

If she squinted, Rachel did not see the woman in the violet raincoat, cinched around her body. No, she saw Quinn.

"Is that -?" She breathed in disbelief, uncrossing her legs, about to pounce.

"No." Santana answered decidedly without letting the diva finish, which was probably for the best since she was unsure if she could even finish the thought, what with the dryness in her mouth. The latina unfolded her hands gracefully and rested them on her hips. "No, Quinn's mom is shorter." In profound thought, she bit her lip. "I haven't met her but I think that might be her sister…"

_Charlotte Fabray._ Rachel thought and in that moment realizing just how much attention she had been paying to Quinn inadvertently during hour after hour of glee rehearsal. Why was it that she had a sudden interest to learn everything about her?

Brimming with curiosity, her darkened, probing eyes flicked to the rigid woman situated on the other side of the otherwise empty room. The woman who, with her flowing blonde hair, was a perfect picture of a sort of upper-class, dignitary. In a few years, she imagined Quinn to bear the same exquisiteness, but perhaps only more so.

Nervously, Rachel drummed her fingers against her wet, limp knee, wondering if she should approach her. A breath, she hadn't realized she was holding was suddenly released into the thick air.

On impulse, she moved, feebly trying to stand upright and address the woman, who needed to know about her sister's state and how she had ended up here. Gravity defied her, her legs wobbled and she stumbled forward into the waiting arms of Santana Lopez, who stared at her with eyes like saucers. The world came crashing down on her, the full force of it shattering her.

In frenzy, she released her darkness, burying her face in Santana's neck. "It's my fault. It's all my fault. She jumped in front of that -" She swallowed the heavy mass in her throat. "For me."

Caught off guard, the latina shifted her weight to better support the girl in her arms. It was an unusual sensation, she thought, scarcely remembering the last time she had held someone like this. Even less, remembering what it was like to _be _held like this. The embrace was kind yet uncomfortable, as she felt Berry's hands begin to reciprocate the hug. This was in fact, possibly the first time she had ever actually touched Rachel Berry.

"It's not your fault. Even if she did do that for you. It was her _choice _to." Santana reassured her, though she quickly realized that this too was perhaps the most pleasant thing she had ever said to Berry. Well-aware and reluctantly, she readjusted her tone, to fit the austerity she was known for.

"We don't know anything yet, Berry." Santana managed to say sternly enough, though in truth she was just as equally edgy. Cautiously, she brushed the dark hair from Rachel's face and kept her arms around the fragile form of a girl, who quickly buried her face in the crook of her neck. Santana capitulated, ignoring her almost immediate instinct to push Berry off her, right then and there.

Berry needed this - this comfort.

Though for years, she had tormented Rachel Berry, she took one moment between sharp and stingy insults to comfort her, to let her lie in her arms until cried herself to sleep. And after it all, after the wave of anguish had washed over her, she returned her attention to the clock on the wall, waiting for the moment a nurse would confront them and tell them that Quinn would be just fine. And when that happened, she would know. She could point to that clock and tell her the exact moment when Quinn Fabray was brought back to life, brought back into a world that needed her, more desperately then it ever knew.

She was certain that it was only a matter of time because if it wasn't…

Santana released a sterile breath from breathing in the sterile, hospital air and glanced at the girl who had fallen asleep in her arms. Carefully, she slid Rachel off her, and propped the diva up like a rag doll in one of the bare chairs, where she sat down next to her, crossing her legs. And when Rachel's head fell to her shoulder, she hesitated, tempted to brush her aside only to deny herself the action. She let the girl lean on her for once.

_Because only in our own civilization, can we find comfort. _Santana thought, allowing Berry's head to lean against her shoulder stilly. _And we need that now more than ever._

…

On the other side of the double doors of the ER, there was girl being rushed through the emergency room, still holding onto the faintest grasp of reality as an assortment of disoriented, discolored blobs whirled past her weary eyes.

Quinn didn't remember the crimson lights from the ambulance that beamed overhead. Or the paramedics rushing to her sides, laying her on the stretcher with fully gloved, fully concealed, manicured hands. Or Rachel scooting in beside her, crying and holding her limp arm tightly in the ambulance ride to the hospital. Or the shock that tainted Santana's face as she willed life into her. She did not remember lying on the hospital bed, stiff fingers suddenly grasping at the sheets, as the nurses wheeled through the double doors in haste.

But she could hear the voices and the mechanical beeping on a lifeless machine, she assumed was a measurement of her heart rate. And she could remember the last thing she ever heard or saw that night to be the sterile mask above her face saying, "She's losing a lot of blood. Too much."

And her last thought? Well, that was a given.

_Rachel Berry._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, good news & bad news.**

**Good News: Curious as to what you guys want to see in the next few chapters!**

**Bad New: Will be going to a place where I will not have access to internet and will therefore not be able to update for quite a while...**


	4. Color

**4. Color**

"Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision."

- Charles Dickens, "Oliver Twist"

Monochrome was never her thing. Rachel Berry did not see the world clear-cut, in bits of onyx black and eggshell white, but rather varying shades of gray. When she had awoken this morning, she did not hate the sun for shining for so brightly on a mournful occasion, she welcomed its arrival on this day. When she met her fathers for breakfast and they gazed upon her with perturbed sympathy, she urged them not to stare at her so glumly, though they turned to each other in surprise. And when she saw the invitation, inked on canvas paper and tied together with a lustrous, red velvet string, she did not see this event as a way to move past the aftermath of Quinn Fabray's death…No, she saw the memorial service as way to carry on her memory forever.

In the deafening silence, Rachel pulled the black dress over her underwear-cladded body, her eyes focusing upon the rippling reflection in her bedroom mirror. Dark, sullen eyes stared back at her through the glass, shimmering ever so slightly in a way she couldn't place for the life of her.

She was ready.

…

The event was melancholy. There was an open casket for those who could only believe what they saw with their own eyes and nothing short of that. They came by the dozens, seated in rows on endless rows of the church, each carrying their own little memory of the deceased. And on an easel on the raised platform of the church where a priest made his sermons every Sunday, there was a great, candid shot of the girl who once was. Quinn Fabray.

Rachel played with the paper program in her hands. She turned it over. And then once more.

Under the finely penned silver lettering of Quinn's name, there was the date of death. First month, day, then year. Letting out a tired sigh, she folded the paper program in her hands and tucked it under her seat. If she couldn't see it, perhaps it wouldn't be quite as real. No such luck.

In a pitch black suit, the boy seated next to Rachel clutched a ruffled piece of parchment in his hands, rose from the stiff bodies beside him and crossed the still air towards the microphone onstage. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part, but whenever Rachel saw him, she was reminded, by his sunlight-blonde hair and hazel eyes, of the girl they had lost. The girl who used to pull on her pigtails in grade school, throw her lunch box under the school bus in junior high and slushy down to the undergarments of her clothes the moment they had stepped foot in McKinley. The girl who had laughed at her when she sang the national anthem for the freshman class, and drew pornographic pictures of her in the girl's bathroom on the first floor. The girl whose smile, though rarely seen through the thrush of grimaces, would forever be engrained her mind. This was the girl who had died for her.

Surreptitiously, her dark eyes took a gander at the seas of people around her and they rippled. Of course, the entire glee club came to the memorial service – that was inevitable.

For weeks, Brittany Pierce had cried her eyes scarlet and raw during class and refused to attend afterschool glee rehearsal. Santana Lopez had shut off completely, barely even speaking in the time it took to prepare the funeral. Stone- cold, Puck had shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit, refusing anyone including Lauren from coming near him while Kurt was only able to keep himself together with the support of his longtime boyfriend, Blaine. Mercedes, Mike and Tina all wept openly.

Nervously drumming her thigh with her fingertips, her eyes discoursed to the row of mourners in front of her. All blonde. All hazel-eyed. Judy, Charlotte and Russell, stiff figures, alike in poise and dignity. Even at a matter like this, they maintained their composure. It frightened her.

Suddenly, the golden boy on the podium pushed up the thin black frames of his reading glasses as he began to read the first lines on the yellowed page. He did not introduce himself, but then again, he had no need to, they had all seen him at point or another. They knew who he was. Many regarded him as Quinn Fabray's first love. But in all honesty, he was not.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep." Sam's steadfast voice rang through the dry deserts of the crowd below. Like ocean reeds, the mourners rippled, moved by the sturdiness of this young man's voice through the emptiness that separated them.

Rachel held her hands in her lap sullenly, dainty fingers twitching. She knew this poem.

"I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain." Instinctively, she felt herself almost mouthing the words as Sam's voice travelled through the speakers.

"When you awaken in the morning's hush…" At this part Sam's voice begins to quiver, slightly through the static of the microphone. Numerous sets of eyes, which had once been to sullen to look up at him, rose suddenly. Like child who's suddenly been asked to carry his father's knife, Sam nervously tugged the collar of his shirt. "I am the swift uplifting rush. Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night."

And perhaps, more than anyone else, Rachel knew this to be true. Quinn was a star, but not just in the way you would expect – her athletics and musical prowess were trivial matters when compared to other shades of her - her mercy, her compassion, her beauty. Yes, she was a star because she beautiful and bright. And warm for the brief moments her ice-cold walls retreated to their dark depths. Because within those frozen barricades she was a celestial inferno, one that could burn up the entire universe if unleashed. A fire that could reduce the entire world to crimson and scarlet dust.

"So, do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die." Sam finished, folding the parchment and leaving the folded page on the podium. He did not need a piece of paper to know what he would say next. "Quinn Fabray will not be forgotten. She will live on in our hearts and souls. And in memory, survive as she did live – as the wonderful, bright and brilliant young girl. Daughter, relative, and friend, we honor your memory."

The world began to blur. Colors melded together and swirled like a kaleidoscope in the scope of her heavy eyes.

"Are you okay?" That was Finn on her other side, genuinely concerned for her. His dark black eyes probing her own for… something…just anything.

Feebly, Rachel forced a smile. She reached for the paper program under her seat quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Razor-sharp pages drew blood from her fingertips and she held them to her face, numb to the sensation of bleeding. Her knees buckled as she felt the painful sting of her own tears running down her face. She was suddenly aware of the rhythmic tremors of her body, the heavy and sudden effect of gravity and the stiffness that had suddenly possessed her. Since the accident, every dream she had, had been about that fateful, cursed night. The dark clouds looming overhead, the eternal sting of rain, the passion, the blood, the girl. Every chance that she had to prevent such a thing from happening, every chance she had to make amends. Every opportunity she did not take. Uncomfortably, she felt the other members of the glee club turn towards her and she knew… She knew who was perchance the most affected by the death of Quinn Fabray.

The one who was always the least likely.

"_Are you okay?" _Finn's voice came again, almost a drone in the deserts between them.

…

"Hey Rach, are you okay?" Finn asked again, this time in the waiting room of the hospital. He waved a hand in front of her face dumbly, the air rippling in front of her glazed eyes.

A smile spread her rose-colored lips apart and she reached for his palm, squeezing it lightly between her delicate fingers. Despite his shortcomings, he had always been a good boyfriend, someone she could trust. And that was something rare for her, someone who would stay with her, who was remotely appealing and trustworthy and…well, something safe.

"I'm fine." The brunette replied a matter-of-factly, before palming the back of her head, the prickly hairs fitting between her fingers. Suddenly, she rose from her seat, much to his surprise and unease.

"I just need a bit of a breather." Her hands waved reassurance. "From this…all this." She continued, her body wavering slightly as she managed to sidestep the other glee clubbers, who had just arrived at the scene and were exchanging apprehensive looks.

Finn went after her, briskly.

…

Santana's eyes flicked up almost immediately, as one Brittany Pierce made her motions through the threshold of the waiting room after she had received that phone call almost a quarter hour ago. Her mouth opened during midstride, flustering with the words.

"Santana? Is she-?"

"Still unconscious." The latina shook her head fervidly, trying to ease the other girl's growing discomfort. "Family visits only. Charlotte's in her room now. And Quinn's mom's on the fastest flight back from Colorado."

Santana did her best to remain resolute, though her wary voice betrayed her. Her words weren't enough to soothe the beautiful, broken picture of a girl before her. The blonde trembled; lips quivered, heart shook through her chest, knees gave way to the sudden gravity.

Uncrossing her arms, Santana reached for her without a second thought. Wading through the still, desiccated air, she lifted her arms and slung them around Brittany's shoulders as the blonde heaved forth a bitter sea of tears. Lulling, she raked a hand though the curtain of blonde hair before her affectionately.

Resisting the desire to linger, the latina's movements were brief though, careful not cross some implicit boundary. Since they had reconciled their friendship, they had avoided speaking about all things love. About lust, about attraction, about any semblance of feelings… Right now, they were friends and the prospect of that elicited a gladness in her she had rarely known.

_But is it enough?_ She asked herself, shivering as Brittany began to reciprocate the embrace with those long, soft, cream-colored arms. The contact between them made her crave something more than friendship - to stay here for eternity.

Santana sunk into the softness of the embrace.

_No. It would never be enough. _

…

A black, bubbling liquid dispensed itself from the bulky coffee machine in the hospital cafeteria slowly. But despite her usual convictions against caffeine, Rachel Berry lifted the Styrofoam cup to her lips and swallowed her poison. The warmth trickled down her parched throat, offering her a little comfort.

"Since when do you drink it black?" A voice intruded from behind her and she whirled to find Finn, his doggedness and all.

"Since recently." The brunette replied, coolly facing him. "How can you be so composed about this?"

"Because she's going to be fine. I know it." Finn tried to reassure her and she fought the immediate urge to correct him in the fact that he could not possibly know such a thing and could therefore not promise something like that, offering false hope. But the gesture was one of compassion and he smiled so she smiled back despite herself.

"I just feel like, like everything's coming down so suddenly, so uncertainly. Like I've lived my life in this little bubble and someone's decided to stick a pinpoint through the walls of it and I've, oh I've realized… We're not invincible. The girl in that room is injured and unconscious because of me. And what if she…if she never…wakes up–"

"It's okay," The enormous boy tried to soothe her again, and she again fought the urge to challenge his logic that such a thing could ever be classified as 'okay'. He was at least trying. She looked up at his face, giving her one of his all-purpose patented smiles and tried to muster the strength to return it.

Then suddenly, his face started to descend and she thought he would kiss her – like he always did to reassure her. But he didn't. When she opened her eyes the tall boy had bent down on one knee before her. His hands fumbling for something in his corduroy coat pocket. He held out the ring in front of her hopefully and though confused, she smirked to herself.

This was the third time a boy had offered a ring to a girl in the glee club. Sam had done so to draw a commitment from Quinn, Puck had done so in his courting of one previously unwilling Lauren Zizes and now…Finn for whatever reason.

Reading the casual expression on her face, Finn began to speak again.

"It's not a promise ring, Rach. I um... it's an engagement ring. It was the one my dad gave my mom before he died." At a loss for words, she took a second look at the ring in question. The rock centered on the golden band shimmered. "I've been thinking too. All of this has had me realizing how easy it is to lose the person you love and... and _I_ love _you_, Rach. I don't want to lose you." He readjusted the ring in front of her. "Will you marry me?"

"Wait, what about New York, Finn?"

"What _about_ New York?"Finn's forehead scrunched in confusion. It was not the response he had anticipated.

Rachel shook her head restively; she had already made her decision. "I'm sorry, Finn. You're a great guy but I can't just abandon my dreams to elope with you."

A brash grin formed from his lips, bearing a sort of blunt quality. Juvenilely, his dark eyes twinkled, probing her for something more.

"We don't have to elope. We can wait until after graduation – then get married." He clarified. "And you don't have to give up New York, Rach. I'd go anywhere for you." Faltering slightly, he held the ring in front of her again. "…will you marry me?"

The strange feeling of unease, which had settled in the pit of her stomach, caught her off guard. Wasn't this everything she had always wanted? The dream, the guy, the city –all hers if she wanted it. She reasoned with herself, tempted to give herself a quick shake into sensibility.

This discomfort was silly. Ridiculous, even. She shoved it down her throat hastily. This was right, he was _right_.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Finn replied, smiling much too broadly and rising to meet her height. As was first instinct, his arms reached for her, wrapping around her small form. It took her a moment to reciprocate.

"I love you, Rachel." He murmured sweetly into the crook of her neck. For the first time in what felt like years, her eyelids slid shut to the sanctuary of the embrace. Even his arms were... safe. Finally comforted, her lips moved on their own accord.

"I love you too, Quinn."

She felt herself stiffen. What was that? Where had that arrived from? Maybe, he didn't hear that...Maybe, they were so wrapped up in the moment that his mind would automatically disregard such a slip-up… Maybe –

"...Quinn?"

His disbelieving voice was an echo heard through the empty deserts between them and at last, the songbird had nothing left to say. The color from her eyes faded fast, 'til they were just dull orbs in the artificial light. And then, because she had nothing left to say, she thought this last part to herself, asking questions she had no such answers to.

_Quinn?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm back! It's been a while since I've written so I hope this chapter was okay. **


	5. The Beautiful Changes

**5. The Beautiful Changes **

"Some eighty thousand years are supposed to have existed between paleolithic and neolithic man. Yet in all that time he only learned to grind his flint stones instead of chipping them. But within our father's lives what changes have there not been? The railway and the telegraph, chloroform and applied electricity. Ten years now go further than a thousand then, not so much on account of our finer intellects as because the light we have shows us the way to more. Primeval man stumbled along with peering eyes, and slow, uncertain footsteps. Now we walk briskly towards our unknown goal." –Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Stark Munro Letters"

Darkness was fading fast as dawn began to break over the horizon, the sun glowering over the thin line that separated both earth and sky. But sunlight was still in the vast distance, a long ways away – with the moon hanging sullenly in the corner of the black-bluish sky like a chandelier. Light bounced off the full, pale face of the moon, caught instead on the tender face of a girl as she sat restlessly in her boyfriend's pickup truck, in her driveway.

They were engaged _now_;

They were fiancés _now_;

They were set in stone _now_;

Was that what she wanted? She turned over the imaginary leaflet in her mind, which she had inscribed her options – how few they seemed to be. She could marry him, – at this she swiveled to him silently in the car and watched that smile crown his face – but was that what she _wanted_? Finn faced her unexpectedly, his mouth moved unsurely before he had even mustered a sound.

"I've missed this." He coasted with a smile, folding his hands in his lap.

Rachel's eyes narrowed at the boy, somewhat put off. "I don't think we've actually done this before."

Which was true. They had never just parked in her driveway, listening to the hum of the engine, barely speaking. But despite the conditions, despite the air and gentle hum and the stars and breaking dawn…there was little romance.

"That's not what I mean," Finn replied, still avoiding the figurative, giant purple elephant that sat in the backseat. The source of her displeasure had manifested itself in a sum of five words: 'I love you too, Quinn'.

Rachel fidgeted anxiously. "What _do _you mean then?"

"I just… I miss this – just being around you, you know." He said, his eyes staring off into the distance as if there was something important that lay across the vast horizon. "You spent the entire summer at theatre camp – we hardly ever got to…communicate. It was like you were on the other side of the planet, even though you were just the next town over. I mean, didn't you feel it too?"

"I…yes." She swallowed her breath, the moist ball of air caught in her throat as Finn turned to her again, his much too black eyes finally connecting with her own.

"And now, we're actually getting married." A joyous, childlike sound twinkled in his voice. Concurring, she nodded absently. "We're going to have a life together, Rach." His voice rang.

Smiling, he reached for the glove-like hand in her lap and traced the place where his father's engagement ring was. Her fingers twitched in the icy air and she tugged the sleeves of her sweatshirt tightly down. It was so cold suddenly, as if rifts of soft, bitter air had shifted between them without them knowing and settled there like the after-battle dust. Which wasn't actually too far from what was actually happening.

"And this is proof of it happening. That one day…" He trailed on, eyes focused on the rough diamond. The small crystal feebly shining between them before she confiscated her own hand and pulled away from him weakly.

Her hands shook.

"It's getting late." Rachel said, prying herself away and almost pressing her skin against the car window. The boy let out a mangled breath into the palms of his hands, before unlocking the car door for her and watching as she moved through the vanishing moonlight. But before she left, before she could turn to him with that awkward apprehension, he had to say it -

"I love you, you know." Finn murmured in a way that rubbed both his lips together and produced a sound not unlike the gentle hum of the grotesque engine.

Rachel met his eyes again, through the fading darkness, her own eyes flashing what seemed to be a painful reflection of his own.

"I…" She managed, heaving. "…love you too."

Now, his eyes were leering at her – no, through her – staring straight through her and her face permeated with heat.

"Thanks." The sound of her voice shocking even herself as it trailed from her lips, feeble and high. She fidgeted with her fingers. "For the ride."

And then, meeting her with a grin, a half-hearted attempt at happiness, he nodded.

Rachel turned, her feet moving mechanically though softly, as she crossed the pavement. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with her keys, shut the mahogany door frame behind her and pressed the burning wasteland of her back against the cool wood, flames on her back extinguishing.

Thoughts ran rampant in her mind, as she forced to eyelids shut, trying to drown them out. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with them? With this picture: a girl propped against the front door, heaving and shuddering, dysfunctional? Unable to let her own boyfriend touch her without feeling…what was this she was feeling?

Like a call from heaven, the lights flicked on, the caramel-colored wall bursting to life with enthusiasm. Cringing back the pain, she felt her raw pupils dilate to find figures staring back at her from the living room.

"It's four A.M." Her father, a towering African-American by the name of Leroy Berry stated sternly, his arms crossed around his chest as his striped sleeping robe dangled slightly. "Where have you been? We've been worrying our asses off…Oof-"

He grunted as the paisley man beside him, Rachel's other father - Hiram Berry elbowed him in the ribs albeit with a smile. "What you're father means to say is that we were worried about you." His eyes seemed large, almost comically because of the magnification of his spectacles.

Awkwardly, the men exchanged quick glances at the sight of their little girl, who had perhaps looked more tired now than she ever had before and Hiram Berry – always the gentler of the two - pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and suggested. "Sweetie, perhaps you should get some rest."

"We'll talk about this in the morning –" Leroy added quickly as Rachel shook her combat boots off at the rug, hoping that by doing so she was leaving only a little bit of her pain behind. They thought they were being inconspicuous, but their voices fell like anvils behind her, under the shelter of the staircase.

Her father sounded from below.

"Well, that was a relief." Hiram chimed from the ground floor, followed the by the scuffling of shoes as she imagined him scuttling off to the kitchen, where he would no doubt make himself a cup of coffee.

"You're kidding, right?" Her other father groaned, his voice a little ways away. He didn't know it – but the faint irritation in his voice made her smile from the staircase. It was familiar. It was kind. It reminded her of someone.

Then letting out a sigh, Rachel turned heel and waded into her bedroom, letting the large expanse of lovely Broadway poster-plastered walls envelope her. She automatically shook her combat boots off at the door, before slamming it shut. It was instinct really, for her to rip off her clothes as she entered the room, layers and layers of fabric coming off like inhibition hung on the coat rack. As she undid her jeans, her eyes found their way across the room, lingering on the collage of photographs that she had taped to the mirror above her dresser.

Most of them were of Finn and her, the large majority photographed after Prom since she had blacked out his face from most the others after their first break up. And they were smiling in most of them, with his hand around her shoulders as he couldn't quite reach lower than that while standing but then again, at least he tried. And it wasn't as if he could control being quite so tall…though if only he were a little shorter…

A few were of the glee club. Kurt, Tina, Mercedes and her, typically situated in front of the ivory piano they had spent so many months practicing with in the choir room. A couple were family photos taken at the park last summer, with her fathers grinning from ear to ear as she chattered off about the latest musical atrocities to hit the mainstream. All very candid. All very simple. And lovely. And typical.

But there was one photo.

The first of its kind.

Different.

Unusual.

Special.

Having finished her duty of undress, she stood up and ripped from the mirror that single photograph, tape tearing away at the paper corners from the glass as she did. In her hands, she held the simple rectangle, unfolded it and smothered its creases against her exposed leg until the glossy colors showed the picture she had taped to her dresser the day that Rachel Berry had decided she was far from perfection. The day she had wanted to change a part of her, in hopes that it would give to her a boy who she couldn't quite remember loving so much. The day she had thought, jealously, that Quinn's nose was perhaps the most beautiful thing she had seen.

This was that picture of Quinn. But right now, the most beautiful thing about her that she saw wasn't her nose; it was her smile.

"I need you to wake up," Rachel blurted aloud, barely aware that her fingers were curling the edges of the glossed paper. "And I know we haven't even spoken civilly since…since Prom." Her voice wove circles around the room. "But the fact is I need you. I need you to be there. Even if you have to scream at me all the time, even if you have to pout every time I walk into the room, even if you have to roll your eyes at every word I say. Because we've spent our entire lives fighting, hating each other, expecting the other person to be something truly terrible …_And I need you to prove me wrong like you did tonight. I need you to be there for that."_

Tears fell to the lustrous photograph, catching what little light was left from the gentle moon that trickled through the blinds. It was dark and she was near naked, shaking and smothered by the fear that persisted within her.

"Live for me. God, please let her live for me."

…

There were a lot of things, that whilst lying in the emergency room, Quinn Fabray had been unaware of. For one thing, she did not know that mother had flown back from Colorado early or that her sister had been at her bedside for six consecutive hours or that Santana was still in the waiting room weeping now that the others had left or that right now at that very moment, Rachel Berry was praying for her.

But what she did remember was the car. What she did remember was Rachel Berry standing, amidst the fog and rain on the otherwise desolate road. What she did remember was a brief moment in time, where she was jumping and leaping and lurching in front of the high-speed car that raced down the track. And every moment she lay in that bed, she was reliving it, over and over again until finally…

"Rachel!" Quinn shouted, jerking upwards as the rude screech left her lips. But in a moment, the rain and clouds and the deafening noise of thunder had faded. There was a clerical light beaming down on her face, forcing beads of sweat down her neck. There was a heavy stench of ammonia and sanitizers in the air that clung to the insides of her nostrils. And there was face - blue piercing eyes the first thing she noticed- intrusively huddled around her as she wiped the cold sweat from her neck.

"Quinnie!" Judy Fabray screeched, adeptly wrapping her arms around the bewildered blonde. "We were so worried about you…Even your sister." The bouncy woman added a little coldly as an afterthought, though the elder sibling hardly noticed; Quinn had always been the woman's favorite.

"Mom?" Quinn asked, her eyes widening as her mother enveloped her in a tight hug, her mind was absolutely whirling at the person that materialized as she stepped from behind her mother and into the scope of plain sight. "Wait, Charlie?"

A coy smirk spread Charlotte Fabray's pink lips, her long arms crossed together across her chest. Her pink, full lips pursed together at the same time. Then with a quick raise of an eyebrow, the blonde minx queried with delicious sound.

"_Rachel?" _Charlotte Fabray mouthed soundlessly with equal enthusiasm but much less surprise, well aware of what entailed such a name. Yes, she knew.

For years, Charlotte Fabray had known. After all, "subtlety" had never been associated with the blonde that lay in the hospital bed before her. In fact, there were sketches that littered their once shared, beloved bedroom floor – some flattering, some not so much – of the girl that had been in this hospital mere hours ago.

And so it wasn't quite so difficult for her to deduce this dreadful secret, which was quickly weaving circles around their lives in some entangled mess. And it wouldn't be so difficult for her to divulge, if it weren't for the soft bit of her that she had inherited from her mother's side. The part of her that made her seem less and less like a born Fabray. So, she slid against the back table, one palm resting firmly on the wooden surface as she assiduously twirled her golden hair with her finger.

Maybe her sister wasn't aware of it yet, as the recently injured girl was still unaware of a great deal of things – but Charlotte knew that great changes would transpire from this point onward. A great deal of changes were inevitably ushering in. But what would come of these changes?

She couldn't quite say.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Is this way overdue? I'll say. But the fact is I've taken up way too many hard courses this semester to keep up with FF. So, as of now I apologize for this wait and future waits, seeing as how this fanfic might slip under the priority radar from time to time. **

**That being said, I'd like to leave you with this fairly optimistic (at least compared to the rest of this story) cliffhanger for now. Will try to update. Definitely do not want to abandon this fic. **


	6. No

**6. No**

"What did she feel? Did she love him, or did she feel nothing at all for him?"

– _Virginia Woolf_

There's something to be said about mankind. Or maybe just this school. Something about the fact that even after a near death experience, which had left you with more or less of a broken leg and a mild headache, people still found it acceptable to heave blueberry slushy into your face. But of course, you wouldn't have minded. After all, you were hero.

Even if heroes suffered.

**X X X**

"Next time, don't cross the hockey team with your crutches." Santana had advised, as she wiped the some residual slush away from Quinn's cast at lunch. "It's like sending a wounded antelope into a field of hungry lions. You didn't expect they'd just let something like that pass, did you?"

"I was counting on their sympathy, Santana." Quinn grumbled, though she was grateful for her friend's sudden kindness. "Who knew the jocks at this school could be so cruel…"

The latina let out a laugh, though not nearly as cruel as one was used to. "I think just about everyone."

Quinn frowned displeased.

"But, you know…" Momentarily moving her gaze from the slushy-soaked cast to the porcelain face of her friend, Santana eased. "If you ever need help getting past those puck-heads, I'm here for you."

Gulping, Quinn nodded. Though, she really shouldn't have been so surprised – her friends had been much gentler with her since the accident. A door held open here, a chair pulled out for her there. Even Finn had been a little less whiny in her presence.

Still, it wasn't enough. The one person, who hadn't spoken to her since the accident, was the only she wanted to hear from._ Rachel Berry_. Subconsciously, she stared at the diva from across the cafeteria, watching as the little star disparaged the lunch ladies for not providing any kosher meal options.

Quinn sighed unwarily, which might have been too much to ask for. Since she had gotten back, she had been far less wary with her leering.

"Something on your mind?" The latina sitting opposite her ventured, raising a curious, mingling eyebrow and smirking that unnerving smirk of hers.

Quinn bit her lip down quickly and turned away, glancing somewhat over her shoulder at Brittany, as she made her way to their lunch table and shimmied in beside Santana.

"No." Quinn replied, to no one's assurance.

"Really," The latina queried, crossing her toned legs pointedly under the table and raising that scrutinizing eyebrow even higher. Quinn shriveled in her seat. "Because, it seems like there is. And it seems like-" Santana continued as she turned to stare fixedly at the short brunette, who was straightening the creases in her argyle sweater with the palms of her hands. "It has something to do with… _her_."

Quinn's face darkened slightly as she reached for the crutches propped up against the side of the lunch table. Without a word, she hobbled away, though the dramatic effect of such a storm out was lost on the fact that she was indeed _hobbling_.

"You can run Fabray, but at one point or another, we're going to have to talk about what happened!" The latina's voice penetrated, almost escalating to a shriek before Brittany had placed a quiet hand on her arm.

"You have no tact." The blonde cheerleader said simply.

"Like you don't want to know what's going on with her," Santana replied a little aloofly, as she forked the peas on her lunch tray suspiciously.

Brittany faced her, with confused sea-blue eyes. "Isn't it obvious?"

But when the latina didn't answer, instead captivated by those beautiful blue eyes, the transient blonde ventured another subject hastily.

"Want to check out the gym?"

Santana blinked. That was so random, even for the blonde.

"Sure." She replied, breathlessly.

"We can check out the hot guys _and girls_." Brittany said, wriggling her golden eyebrows seductively before she sauntered ahead, but the latina nodded, barely registering her words – only the twinkle of her voice. She shivered when the blonde reached over the table and tugged at her hand, pulling to her feet abruptly.

"This food's disgusting anyways." Dropping her fork, the latina replied as she began to regain some semblance of composure.

She wouldn't admit it, but she couldn't function when Brittany did things like such that were only extra adorable. Slowly, she inhaled a breath, letting the beautiful intoxication of Brittany's lavender perfume linger in her lungs.

She wasn't interested in guys.

She wasn't even too interested in girls.

She was interested in Brittany.

But she couldn't have her…could she?

Feeling breath fill her lungs once more, she stared at the girl who dragging her through the halls with eager anticipation. They had always been so close; sometimes if she closed her eyes, she could imagine what they would be like together. Sometimes, when they spoke just a little too closely, she could feel herself leaning in ever so slight. Sometimes, she just wanted…a little more.

"Something on your mind?" Brittany echoed adorably, when she had finally let go of the latina's hand and they found themselves standing outside of the auditorium.

Plastering a smile on her face, she faced the object of her affections. "Nothing."

…

Porcelain fingers danced over the piano keys, like a ballet on the miniature stage. Music went adrift from the dark choir room, as Quinn played the first few notes of "My Beloved", a fitting song for a moment like this.

On the polished surface of the piano, she caught her own reflection, a prominent red cut on her cheek still blazing. She moved her hands from the white keys to her face, grazing the light wound. In due time, it would heal and the faint reminders of her one heroic act would fade. In due time, would her friends forget about it? In due time, would they stop treating her so charily?

Given the right amount of time, would Rachel forget?

"No, she wouldn't. She's not like that," Quinn answered her thoughts aloud, without a second thought.

"Who's not like what?"

Quinn shuddered. She knew that voice, she knew that sound, that sweet inflection, the almost whisper in the dark. Blinking her dry eyes in disbelief, she turned her body in one awkward movement and caught sight of the girl standing in the doorway of the choir room.

"I'm sorry; I didn't know someone was in here." Rachel said, moving her feet awkwardly as she wasn't sure if she was going to leave or stay. The diva made a gesture towards the door. "I'm just going to go-"

"-You don't have to," Her hazel eyes were pleading, and to much pleasure, the brunette obeyed, inching her way onto the piano bench. Quinn's porcelain fingers traced the white piano keys.

"I didn't know you played." Rachel's voice rose.

"A little," Quinn stated obviously, not quite sure what to say. She turned in her seat to face the brunette fully, though she hadn't quite noticed how close the diva had scooted over. The sensation of Rachel's breath on her face made her shudder. "Listen, I know…There's a lot of…stuff between us right now… But the fact is I-I-"

"Quinn, what's wrong?" Rachel asked, moving even closer until the moment seemed even more intense than it had been mere seconds ago. The blonde's face was flushing, her mouth going drier as Rachel continued to fill the otherwise silence. "You look faint, maybe you go to the nurse –"

"-Wait, just please… listen," Before she could stop herself, the blonde had coolly placed a finger on the front of Rachel's lips. The diva closed her soft lips tightly at her ghostly touch. "We're meeting at Santana's to discuss Sectionals, right?"

"Right." The brunette responded, raising an eyebrow. She wasn't quite sure where Quinn was going with this.

"Can we talk then?" Eyes wide open, Quinn sputtered, her entire body shaking. She couldn't do this, not now. This wasn't right; this wasn't the moment she was going to tell the girl exactly how much she meant to her. This wasn't the place to rip her chest wide open and hold out her heart.

"Okay," Softly, Rachel nodded as thunder filled the inside of Quinn's chest. Turning her attention to the piano, Rachel smiled a brilliant smile. Her tan fingers moved lightly over the keys next to Quinn's shaking ones, continuing the song that had been playing minutes ago.

"I love this song." The brunette resonated. When she moved, the loose threads of her sweaters clung to the back of her neck.

"I do too." Quinn whispered to herself, grateful that Rachel hadn't quite heard her.

"You know, they say that all the world's stage." Rachel murmured sweetly, "And all the men and women merely players."

"That's beautiful."

"That's Shakespeare."

…

Standing outside of Santana's house gave Rachel Berry an eerie sensation of insignificance, so she pulled her hoodie a little tighter as the menacingly grandeur house shined in the silver moonlight. She took a step forward, across the pavement and onto the doorstep of a terribly enormous house. Lima Heights Adjacent, it seemed, had not been as threatening as Santana had described.

Her thin knuckles pounded on the locked door and for a moment, she lingered in the awkward interval of fear and anticipation before the silver entrance swung open. Santana stood in the doorway, dressed in a comfortable pair of black shorts and a thin green v-neck.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare, Berry?"

The brunette huffed, indignantly. Yes, while part of her expected to see Quinn waiting for her, she was mildly relieved. After all, she wasn't quite sure if she was ready for this…yet.

Giving her an offhand smirk, Santana led her inside.

"I thought you said you lived in the ghetto." The tiny teenager sounded, poking her head into the opulent doorway of what appeared to be a to-scale library.

"Please," Santana smirked, not looking back at register the brunette's reaction. "Lima Heights Adjacent is as corrupt as you can get."

"Yeah, if you're an uptown girl."

"Sorry, didn't hear that, Frodo." Santana snapped back, though when she turned something thing in her eyes made her sharps words a little softer.

Rachel brushed off the snide nickname easily. "You know, you're not as 'bad' you make yourself out to be."

The comment made Santana flinch, ever so slightly that if you weren't looking for it, you would have missed it. When the two of them stumbled into the next room, several heads shot up from their respective places on the loungers or the floor, several sets of beady eyes glancing up at her softly.

"Hey," Quinn's fragile voice rose above the silence as she propped herself up from having previously been sprawled across the floor. Those hazel eyes twinkled brightly from the light reflected off a crystal chandelier.

"Hey." The brunette shakily answered, her fingers twitching at the sides of her designer jacket. Taking a much needed breath, she swiveled to draw her eyes away from the blonde. "Fellow glee clubbers, I suggest that we first attack the set list. After all, song choice is absolutely vital in-"

"We've already sorted that out." From the green lounger, Kurt crooned nonchalantly as one Rachel Berry turned bright red at some embarrassment and irritation. "Don't worry, the songs came straight off the list you approved on MySpace."

"But without me? What about the-"

"Relax, we gave you a killer showstopper, Mama." Mercedes interjected, winking as the brunette eased up, flattening the on-end hairs on the back of her head with the palm of her empty hands.

"Well," Rachel muttered with only minor irritation in her voice. "It seems as though you have this all under control…" Her eyes lingered to the blonde staring at her, who rose swiftly, marching to the balcony that extended from the living room. Brushing her bare feet across the carpet, Quinn leant up against her.

"Can we talk?" The former cheerleader asked with more poise than she had in the choir room, once the other half of the glee club had occupied themselves with mundane conversation.

They snuck away from the living room, past the endless corridors and abstract paintings, until they found themselves on the front of the Lopez's front porch. The blonde had shut the stain-glass door behind them and perched on the railing of the front porch when Rachel blurted tactlessly, "What did you want to talk about?"

"Us." Quinn replied to Rachel's chagrin, smiling when she heard the soft music drifting from the other side of the door. "Looks like they're celebrating now that we're out of the way."

"It's their lost, you know." Rachel said, without elaborating. "How's your leg?"

"Better, I think I can make it without my crutches now." Quinn let out a hearty laugh, until a familiar awkwardness settled over the moment."So, I hear you're getting married." Dully, Quinn stated, not looking up from the palms of her hands. Frozen to the ground, Rachel didn't answer. Why did it sound so wrong when Quinn said it? Why did it make her feel sick when she heard Quinn's voice like this?

"Do you love him?" Quinn asked when she heard no answer.

"I'm marrying him-"

"That's not what I asked," Her voice was serious, yet bore no semblance of threat. Just pain. Just painful enough to shake the universe.

Rachel moved back, pressing her back against the front door. "I don't understand you, Quinn. I don't understand what you want from me – I mean, one moment you're tormenting me and the next you're throwing yourself in front of a station wagon to save my life."

"I don't understand me either." Quinn sighed frivolously. The sheer candidness of her voice made her grin.

"What's wrong with us?" The songbird's laughter danced over the empty streets of the suburbs as she tossed her hair in the wind. "Why is it so hard for us just to be friends?"

"Because I'm Quinn, and you're Rachel." The blonde ventured. "Because everyone expects us to be in competition and to hate each other…"

Then all at once, Quinn breathed as if mustering up the breath to speak. But Rachel wanted to know, she needed know with the desire that burned incessantly in her chest, and so, she waited until her former enemy could speak.

"Because if we were friends, I'll always want something more."

The silence between them was interrupted with crashing resonance of her tears on the front porch. And though her hands were shaking, Rachel met her with a numb sensation, pulling her face aside.

"Quinn?"

"I think I-I-"The blonde began to stammer, as Rachel felt herself moving in ever so slightly. Her breath hitched inside her throat, unsure of what would come next. When their faces were close enough, near enough to -

"Hey, guys. Sorry, I'm late I was just playing Halo and time got away from m-" An intrusive voice startled them and they fell back quickly to find Finn staring back at them through the darkness, a dopey look plastered on his face.

All at once, the world seemed a stage. These three were the players in some intricate plot, where love and lust and promise were things that were meant to be broken.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" The star of this show spoke through sudden tears, turning away from the beautiful blonde and moving towards her fiancé. "I can't do this." And then, facing that tall fellow in the dark, she said. "Finn, take me home. My dads are out until eleven and I can't..."

The diva's voice trailed on and Quinn closed her eyes, the pain burying deep into her, as she wrapped her hands tightly around the railing to keep herself from falling. When her eyes snapped open in the darkness, the star of the show was nowhere to be found but the background music of life played solemnly in the background.

"All the world's stage." Quinn whispered to herself. "And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one plays many parts." Blonde hair flew as she brought her face up from her palms. "I just wish I knew what part I'm supposed to play."

…

"So," Finn stated simply, staring at his hands, which had been wrapped tightly around the steering wheel since they had left Lima Heights Adjacent and pulled into Rachel's driveway.

"So." His girlfriend replied, crossing her arms in the passenger seat.

"Are we going to talk about what just happened or –"

"There's nothing to talk about it."

Exasperated, Finn met her eyes in the dark and looked to her solemnly.

"Yes, there is. There's a lot to talk about, actually." Beside him, the brunette sat perfectly still, though her eyes were quickly welling up and her chest heaved sporadically as bit down her lip, desperately trying to keep herself from crying. Never in his life had he seen Rachel like this, she never cried for Puck this way, never for Jesse, not even for him.

"I just don't know what to do…" With a drowning voice, Rachel cried into her hands.

"Do you love her?" The star football player swallowed his pain, a sudden seriousness lingering in the swirls of his dark eyes.

"Yes." The sound of her own voice scared her. Her eyes snapping open, she took her finger and pressed it against her lips as Quinn had done just earlier that day. With more assurance, she managed to repeat. "Yes, I love her."

"Then I think we both know what you have to do."

Accordingly, Rachel slid the golden band off her finger and slipped it into the open palm of the young man sitting next to her. In the center of his palm, Finn held the feeble crystal ring, his eyes staring through the darkness into its quiet radiance. Then, with a smile, he turned to her, still holding the halo in plain's sight. "Rachel Berry, will you break up with me?"

"I thought you would never ask." She offered him a weak smile as she glanced at her reddish self in the mirror with abrupt realization. The name lingered in her voice perfectly, as if that name belonged in her voice. "_Quinn._"

She turned towards Finn hesitantly. "Finn, could you-"

"Drive back?" The usually clueless teenager finished thoughtfully, giving his ex fiancé a genuine smile as the brunette waited anxiously from his answer. He grinned. "Of course."

"And Finn?"

"Yeah, Rach?"

"Do you still keep that boom box in the back?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, this was a big one. As promised, I am not giving up on this fic without a good conclusion (which I fear might be coming in the next chapter or not, depending).**


	7. A Thousand Years

**7. A Thousand Years**

"I love you in a really really big, pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you." – Grey's Anatomy

_Perhaps Quinn's already gone home._

_Perhaps she's not going to even listen to you after what you did._

_Perhaps she will have given up on you completely by now._

_I mean I would..._

_And even if she hasn't…_

These are the thoughts weaving crop circles through Rachel's mind as she sits in the passenger seat of Finn's pickup truck, four blocks down the road from the house. Heart beats thunder through her incessantly.

"A little nervous?" Finn asks turning over in his letterman jacket.

Prying her fingers from the edge of her seat, she mutters, "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Before he can think about it, letting out a final breath, she digresses.

"Wait, here." Turning towards the boy, she says and he rolls his eyes. Then in almost mid-sentence she changes her mind again and says. "Never mind, actually go. If I'm going to do this I have to do this alone."

He opens his mouth to mutter a quick 'fine', but by then, the diva has already unbolted the door and proceeded half a block down the street. So, instead he flicks the headlights back on and gears his car back on the road home.

"Good luck, Rach."

…

Across the tired road, Rachel Berry fiddles with the silvery iPod in her jacket pocket until the music she's been waiting for soars through the air at permissible decibel. This is the song – the very one that had been playing the fateful night on the balcony. When they had seemed so much younger, so much more naive, terrified.

It floats through the merciless air. Music.

"_Hearts beat fast, colors and promises. How to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?"_

From a distance you couldn't see it. You couldn't see that Santana was consoling the girl in front of her house, whose back had been turned toward Rachel. Though she make a close estimation who it was by the long curtain of flawless blonde hair that trickles down her spine. When finally she meets the front porch the latina's eyes address her own, though the welcome is far from friendly. Apparently, the blonde catches on quickly and whirls to find the brunette at the foot of the stairs, barely concealing her heartbreak. Her eyes are slightly red and her face is slightly puffy.

"Berry, boy have you got some nerve thinking you could just waltz your way back here and..." The latina starts.

Feeling ashamed, the meek girl's eyes settle on the puffy-eyed blonde on the porch.

"This is my neighborhood, Berry. so don't think you can go playing fuck-witage around with my friends like that then you can just watch me-" Like a seething mess, Santana takes a menacing step forward before Quinn catches her with the back of her arm.

The worn blonde tilts her head backward. "Can you give you gives us a moment, Santana... Alone."

Relenting, Santana shakes her head resisting but softens gradually before disappearing back inside. "I watching you, Berry." She remarks before letting the door fall behind her with a quiet thud. When they are alone the music between them becomes increasingly perceptible.

"_But watching you stand alone, all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow."_

"What do you want from me?" Unnerved by the particular song, Quinn responds, folding her arms across her chest as if she half-expects to be hurled into the darkness. Hazel eyes narrow slightly. Defensively. The barriers between them appear, like ominous, smoking pillars as they rise from the ground. Like the things standing in their way has made "Because you're killing me you know?"

The brown-eyed girl's breath hitches in her throat as the moonlight paints the front porch with varying shades of bluish-white. Was loving someone ever suppose to be like this? Was it supposed to be quite as terrifying? So imperative, it made one unable to convey the simplest thought?

"I don't want to be the one doing that to you." Rachel answers the best way she knows how.

Quinn resists. "Well, you are. And I'm not quite sure if I have a choice in the matter-"

The air between them thickens, icy breath of a coming winter nips at her dangly knees. And looking up at the moonlit face, that porch, the enormous pillars - the reasons standing between them – the brunette hasn't ever felt smaller. But Quinn's shoulders slump as she releases a tired breath. The moment digresses. Even though those circular eyes are still staring holes through her, even though the cold persists into her blood, even though she'd rather run away then face this – somehow Rachel manages to say, almost in a whisper -

"-Be with me."

And the tremulous voices inside telling her to run the other way have been silenced. Instead, she finds herself drowning them with her own.

"I love you more than I thought was even humanly possible."

Someone's breath cuts through the eloquent darkness, and Rachel's not quite sure whose so she persists. The fervor in her voice matches the flaming heat building in her tired chest. The words don't stop. They don't begin to stop.

"Because you – you're everything. You're everything I didn't know I couldn't live without… And that…that terrified me. Because I'm Rachel Berry – the drama queen, the diva – I was never going to put my life on hold for anybody…and you knew that I wouldn't for anybody..."

Tears stream down her face and she finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from the hazel spheres looking down at her from the top of the stairs. The image is blurring though, and she can no longer tell what the expression on Quinn's face looks like. She can only sense her moving towards her –

"But you."

Suddenly, she's aware that Quinn's standing right in front of her, with her long arms at her sides as her visage wavers due to the onset of tears, which never seems to stop.

"Rachel." That alto voice echoes through the space between them.

"And I'm not using it as an excuse; I just wanted you to know-"

"Rachel."

"I know, I know. You want me to leave –"

"Rachel!" Quinn's voice thunders, summoning her former head-bitch mantra. "Geez, has anyone ever told you just how frustrating you can be?"

But the voice is far from harsh, almost teasing. Rachel watches in anticipation as creamy, white fingers clasp the sides of her burning face with apprehension. There is no sting in touch; there is no tension in the way that Quinn is holding her right now. Instead, she feels the tenderness in her fingertips as the former cheerleader brushes the tears from her face. Breathing evenly, Quinn pulls the girl in closer until their faces are merely shy from touching. Quinn's eyes flick between her eyes and her lips quickly as the merest shade of confusion passes her visage.

No words can do this moment justice.

No words can begin to describe the fear, the passion, the tension, the longing, the trepidation of knowing in your hands, you held the love of person you've been waiting for.

And Quinn Fabray refused to waste a moment of it.

She'd simply been waiting too long.

Far too long.

The taste of Rachel's lips was tantalizing like no other. The sound of her breath ragging her lover's throat was heartening. Making her never want to take her lips off of Rachel's. But the moment comes for them to part, and for the first time in a long while, she finds herself at ease. Looking into Rachel's eyes, she finds herself captivated.

"I love you, too." Swirls of greenish-brown eyes peer down the girl in her arms. "Rachel, I-I think… I always have."

For a moment, Rachel pulls back only to have the taller blonde wrap her arms around the back of her neck in a comfortable fashion. The reasons keeping them apart seem thinner now, more insubstantial – they're no longer reasons, just excuses. Could it be that they have been all along?

"_And all along I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me. I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more." _

Without prompting, Quinn sways slowly with arms wrapped securely around her brunette counterpart. Shivering, Rachel accepts the quiet proposition and eases into this. She nestles her face on Quinn's shoulder, breathing in the moment. Living in the moment. Living off _this_ moment. This slow dance.

"_I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling don't be afraid I have loved you. For a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more…"_

With her eyes shut slightly, the brunette murmurs something softly into the crook of her neck. The words aren't important for now. Just the sound of her voice as she murmur quietly-

"Quinn."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The end? Thinking about doing a sequel in the far future, maybe with a deeper focus on Brittana.**

**And so, here we end with a Grey's Anatomy quote as in the first chapter. And yes, 'A Thousand Years' is an amazing song. **


End file.
